


Regarding the Snogging of Assassins

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: The Sound of Magic [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 21:03:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16145459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: One of the two surviving Grey Wardens of Ferelden came from the Circle of Magi. Wynne believes she knows best and attempts to dissuade Warden Amell from what she sees as a poorly chosen course of action. Sevarra found a new and much more interesting way to drown out the old bat's nagging.





	Regarding the Snogging of Assassins

The old witch had caught her unawares while she’d been tending the cooking pot that night, stirring the stew she’d made. A couple of rabbits’ worth of meat, some root vegetables they’d found and a bit of spice. Not fancy, but Maker certainly knew it’d be more edible than anything Alistair attempted to cook. Sevarra had all-too gladly taken her brother-Warden’s offer of swapping chores that night. He could hunt better than he could prepare food.

 

“If I could have a few moments of your time, Sevarra? Assuming you’re not up to anything pressing, that is?” Wynne said.

 

The younger mage stirred the pot, shrugging her shoulders. “Aside from guarding us against stomach aches, I’m not doing anything earth-shaking. Something on your mind?”

 

Wynne waited a few moments, but Warden didn’t look up from the pot. Grumbling internally, she began. “You’re quite taken with each other, aren’t you?”

 

“Hmm?” came the inattentive reply.

 

“You… and him, the… elf.”

 

“Oh, you know about Zevran and I?” Sevarra replied in a cool tone.

 

“I almost wish I didn’t,” Wynne grimaced. Giggling from the Warden’s tent was a near-nightly occurrence. She had… ideas of what went on behind closed tent-flaps. “You two make it difficult for the rest of us to get any sleep, the way you carry on at night.”

 

Sevarra smirked. The other night, they’d been taking turns reading passages from “The Rose of Orlais” and giving opinions on how the author had described what passed for love scenes. Could she really be blamed for falling into a fit of giggles over how atrocious Zevran’s attempt at an Orlesian accent was? She tried to give him pointers on proper pronunciation, rewarding him with kisses when he got it right. Somehow, her tunic and breast band had mysteriously vanished during the lesson and things had… escalated. Truly, it had all been in the name of encouraging and rewarding effort. Was that so wrong?

 

“We’ll try to keep it down next time,” she said.

 

“That’s very kind of you,” Wynne replied dryly. “I’ve noticed your developing… relationship, and I wonder where you think it is going. It seems he only ever has one thing on his mind. I question the wisdom of a Grey Warden being involved in such an affair.”

 

The Warden stopped stirring the stew, fire bursting to life in her belly while she fought to keep her face and body language neutral. She was Harrowed. She was a Grey Warden, the Circle’s rules no longer applied to her. The Grey Wardens had no rules against mages openly enjoying the company of others, romantic or otherwise. It was frankly none of the old bat’s concern!

 

“Zevran is special. We have fun together. We enjoy each other’s company,” the younger mage carefully replied.

 

“Which is why I worry. You are a Grey Warden. You have responsibilities and I fear you will neglect them.”

 

The fire in Sevarra’s belly became a volcano, achingly close to spewing forth lava. Her mind burned with anger.

 

_What did that old crone know?! What did she know of what she’d suffered, what she’d endured? Did she dream of darkspawn and archdemons at night? Did she feel the Taint swimming in her blood? Did she know what it was like to know the thrill and terror of sensing the darkspawn? Did she know that she’d been forced to choose between taking the Joining or death? Had she any idea, that no matter how this ended, that the Wardens would have to die? Either in battle against the darkspawn horde, or years later after suffering the slow poisoning of the Taint._

 

Neglect her responsibility? How could she if she could never forget it in the first place? It sang in her blood with every heartbeat. She had to hunt and kill darkspawn like wolves had to hunt prey. It had long since stopped being a duty to her and had become a need, an instinct. She could no more ignore the Blight and its creatures than a hungry wolf could ignore carrion with meat yet on its bones.

 

Life was for the living. Surely, the Maker could forgive her for trying to enjoy a small piece of it while she still drew breath? She had changed. Could she be faulted for trying to enjoy the parts of herself that were still human?

 

She ached to scream her rage at the senior enchanter. Instead, in a mock-pout of a voice, she said, “Being a Grey Warden is hard. I need to be myself sometimes.”

 

Wynne sputtered. “But you are a Grey Warden. The title is not a coat that you cast aside at the end of the day. It should inform your every action, your every decision.”

 

She knelt at the opposite side of the cooking pot, catching the younger mage’s eyes with her own, glaring. “The way you are acting now… it is not fitting of a Grey Warden.”

 

It took all of Sevarra’s effort to keep her ice magic from erupting from beyond her skin and potentially freezing everyone’s dinner. She met Wynne’s disapproving blue glare with a defiant silver one of her own.

 

“I disagree. I can be a Grey Warden and be with Zevran, as well,” the younger mage said curtly. She rose and was about to take her leave. She needed away from this conversation, and especially away from Wynne, before she did something foolish.

 

Wynne rose and followed the retreating mage, intent on hammering her point home. Sevarra picked up her pace, reaching the edge of camp, silently praying to the Maker for Wynne to lay off or some form of rescue to arrive.

 

Almost as if he’d been summoned, Zevran was returning from helping gather herbs, a mostly full sack tied to his belt. A ghost of a smile touched his lips as his eyes landed on the Warden. She closed the distance between them, cupped his chin in her hand and claimed his lips and then his tongue with her own. There had been a brief jolt of surprise on his part, but it rapidly melted away as he draped one of his arms around her waist.

 

The elder mage scowled at the scene before her. There were gratuitous groans and other undignified sounds as the Warden and her elven lover continued their passionate embrace. It was no use, they were both apparently quite good at holding their breath. Wynne grumbled and skulked back to the cooking fire. Later that night, she could’ve sworn that the noisy moans and other... racket that could only be one certain type of activity, had been fueled by pure spite. Sevarra’s satisfied smirk the following morning all but confirmed it.


End file.
